The Lost Ones
by ThetaWolfe
Summary: Moya gives birth to another son, but circumstances beyond their control force them to separate. Alone but for the baby and 1812, John Crichton sets off on a journey to find Moya and his family, forcing him to go places he never wanted to be and turning him into something he never wanted to become. (Complete change of original story, even the plot. Sequel removed for consistency)
1. Chapter 1

***Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.***

"_How can I get anything done with so much extra time on my hands?"_

_-Samuel L. Jackson_

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**Button Down the Hatches**

**Chapter Summary: **Day negative five - Today is a good day...sorta. Moya went into labor. Aeryn's sleeping with Chiana, but not like that. Rygel is still frelling useless at everything, but he still tries to help so there is that. I haven't slept in days, Aeryn worries, but the blue keeps leaking in. How do I make it stop?

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Solar Day -5

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

Space is an ambiguous word that falls short of describing its actual purpose or existence. Space just is, and sometimes it is not. Contradictory that it may be, it is both everything and nothing. Beautiful, some would describe it. A darkness that stretches to every corner, every nook and cranny, everywhere and everywhen of everything. Little tiny sparkling lights of fierce heat and energy dotting the shadows like billions upon billions of twinkling diamonds.

Gasses collided and condensed to create dust. Dust collided and condensed to create rocks. Rocks collided and condensed to create planets. Not long after came life.

Space was vibrant, teaming with hope and possibilities. Tiny little creatures in a vast abyss, blind to all but themselves, struggling to survive. But somehow they found their way. Many perished: to young, to weak, to unlucky. Some stretched beyond themselves and left their tiny planet. Few overreached and reigned destruction down upon others. One ascended beyond space and time to become God/Savior/Destroyer.

God/Savior/Destroyer was tiny once. So small and insignificant it dreamed of something greater then itself but lacked the ability (evolution, knowledge, life, strength, skill) to become anything else. And then one day it all changed. Bad luck with worse timing opened the universe to it, and the tiny creature stumbled through space blind, deaf, and dumb. One of the few that overreached saw the pathetic creature and took pity. The few gave it ability (evolution, knowledge, life, strength, skill) and the tiny thing became everything else.

It was not an easy journey and the length of time compared to the tiny insignificant creature's life would be considered long. To the rest of existence though, it was such a short time that it ascended from something so inconsequential to a thing of vast importance.

It all started with a pregnant Leviathan, a promise not kept, and a hole in the universe.

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Moya drifted alone in the dead of space. Her only companions within her hull as she lazily orbited the sun with no planets. It was a tiny thing, as stars go; bright blue and warm as the heat stroked along her underbelly. A solar flare danced green across the surface, the light shimmering off of Moya's hull creating a feeling of calm in its simplistic beauty.

It had been a long time since the Leviathan had felt this kind of peace. Even for one as long lived as she, the time seemed great. But with the War over with the Peacekeepers and Scarrans she could finally enjoy it. No more being hunted, no more desperate Starbursts pausing only long enough to recharge, no more prisoners, no more control collars. It was just her and her crew in the vastness of space, alone and at peace…finally.

Moya could go any and everywhere they wanted, through Uncharted Territories, Tormented Space, even the Charted Territories without fear. They could shop on commercial planets for supplies without ending up running for their lives and dock on space stations without checking to make sure news feeds did not proceed them. A much needed rest after cycles of threats, explosions, hostile takeovers, political maneuvering, and death. No one was looking for them, not anymore, and she and Pilot could not be happier.

The Leviathan's engines hummed softly as she orbited around the solar mass. Most of her crew was sound asleep during her night sequence and at peace, so she danced undisturbed among the stars. Her great mass looped and twirled in the weightlessness of space as her and Pilot thought upon their crew. They were a good bunch and she loved them dearly. Their loyalty was tested and unwavering, their hearts kind, and their souls finally at peace.

Rygel slept deeply, all stomachs full and not a care in the universe. Noranti was napping in the kitchen, a pot simmering over an open fire as opposed to the stove that she still refused to use. The kind elderly woman was helping to make something that would clean Moya's air systems faster then what the DRD's had been able to attend to since they were needed elsewhere. Chiana was sleeping in her chamber with the baby half breed D'Argo, though neither slept as deeply as the Hynerian.

A drone informed her of Aeryn making her way slowly down the halls. Most likely to retrieve her husband. Moya could pinpoint Commander John Crichton's location even without aid. He had been in the same spot for over three weekens, leaving only to eat or catch a quick nap. Even so, he was never away for more than a few arns.

John stood alone in Command, watching the information flow swiftly across the holographic screen projecting in front of him. His hair stood in every direction and his body was hunched over in fatigue. Blue eyes took in every translucent word, symbol, number, and equation carefully as if his life depended upon it. But it was not only his life, no…it was also the life of the crew and ship that depended on it. One mistake was all it took, one little blip that could be mistaken for debris could spell disaster for everyone.

Pain pushed at the front of his mind, head pounding and eyes aching as he closed them briefly in reprieve. It only made it worse as images flashed across the back of his eyelids. Memories, reminders that refused to stay locked away. But there was something else, something he refused to acknowledge. Terrified that if he thought upon it, it would become real, become substantial.

_If I ignore it, it will go away._

He scrubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes, pressing until his vision whited out and his head thumped with the beat of his heart and not the pulsing of the universe. The reprieve lasted microts. Equations in alien symbols; blue letters and numbers upon the surface, around the corner, on the floor. The angle of the room, the slope of the glass, the pressure of the air. It all floated, just outside his peripheral vision…teasing him. He could see it, but he could not comprehend. Blue letters, blue numbers, blue symbols, blue wormholes, and red blood. The faces of the dead and condemned. Red hands, red halls, red ground. But D'Argo's blood ran black and oozed poison.

The dead haunted his dreams and snuck upon his thoughts during his waking moments. They hounded at his mind like a pack of dogs. Barking and baying, they pulled his attention sideways and backwards; making it impossible for him to see straight ahead, to see forwards. But that was what he had Aeryn for. She stroked and soothed, hummed and sighed and calmed. Some days it helped to settle the pack.

_Curl up by the fire pups, let me tell you a story_.

Some days it did not help at all.

Crichton raised a hand, swiping it across the air as if to banish the mental images before he ran it tiredly across his face. He needed to shave soon, the stubble catching his fingertips and tingling his nerve endings as his lips pulled into a frown. Did he not just shave…no that was yesterday. Or perhaps the solar day before. It was hard to remember, Aeryn usually did that for him…the remembering.

Weary eyes turned to the data, forcefully pulling his mind back into the now. It was getting harder to do that, he noticed. But it was more of a side thought, a moment of 'hey, look at that…huh' and then it was gone. It was the blue that cast his mind into every which way. The numbers and symbols…the knowhow and whereto of wormholes.

John had thought that after two cycles of peace, after marrying the woman of his dreams and starting a family, after the knowledge had left…it would stay away. Is that not what he had been promised by the Ancient? Once, just once as a weapon and no more. Well, if this was the no more, John wanted a refund. Someone did not hold up their end of the bargain. Or had there ever been a deal? He could not remember what exactly was said.

_Perhaps I had been meant to die…perhaps I should have._

The implanted knowledge returned gradually. It started with the screams: it always started with the screaming. And then faces started to appear attached to the screams and the blood and the pain. Finally the symbols started to appear. The complex, elegant, beautiful, terrible equations that one day just popped into his dreams. John first thought that it was just a residual memory from the wormhole equations; he thought it would just go away, but it didn't.

_It doesn't work that way, Johnny. You should know better._

The first time he had seen them in the waking world, Crichton was unsure if he was still dreaming. The razor scraped past his jaw and down his neck, removing the cream and stubble before he rinsed his cheeks. The water was cold, nearly burning his face as he splashed it on his skin. Moya could not be bothered to heat the water for such a trivial use, not while most of her energy was being used for the baby.

The towel he had grabbed was fluffy, and no matter what he told Aeryn, it was not pink…just a faded off-red. Patting his face dry, he pulled the cloth away and dried his hands as he inspected himself in the mirror and that was when he saw it. A blue line followed the contour of his throat, pulsing with his heartbeat and shimmering in the mirror. He leaned closer to inspect it and that was when it changed. It was not a line, but a series of numbers that graphed his jugular.

John had startled, nearly tripping over 1812 who beeped at him in confusion as he threw himself backwards into the wall. Blue eyes gazed upon the mirror in horror, but there was nothing in its reflection but his terrified face. Heart pounding and breath heaving, he shushed 1812 as he tentatively approached the mirror. His hand reached out, fingertips brushing metal as he clasped the sink and pulled himself before his reflection. There was nothing there but his own face staring back at his. John sighed in relief, chuckling in embarrassment as his blue eyes swept from corner to corner of the reflective surface – too blue, the circumference in his iris, the hole of his pupil, the numbers shifting as the black contracted.

_No!_

He broke the mirror, blood dripping down his clenched fingers as the numbers scattered like the shattered pieces of the glass, red smeared across his reflection. John fled from the bathroom and told no one of what he saw, but they all knew. They could see it as his eyes tracked things only he could perceive. And then the day came in the mess hall when he stopped mid conversation with Rygel, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end as if static electricity permeated the air. John gazed around slowly as if he could not comprehend what he was seeing before he rushed from the room. Microts later Pilot informed them that a wormhole had opened nearby. They Starburst from the quadrant and never returned.

After that Crichton began to hole himself up in the oddest of places. The ventilation shaft on tier two was his favorite. The constant headache never left, each solar day worse than the last as the numbers returned with a vengeance. He felt as if his mind was being ripped apart and reformed; the equations were raping his brain as it scoured through his synapses and lodged themselves inside of his networks.

In less than three monens nearly all of the wormhole knowledge had returned, clustering and making itself at home in his mind. Even now as he stood in front of the console they returned, edging in around his peripheral and dancing just out of view. Crichton dug his palm into the sharp side of the metal, cutting through his delicate flesh as pain made the blue finally leave. It was not the best solution, and sometimes it did not always work, but pain made the equations retreat long enough for John to be in the here and now.

He turned his attention back to the screen, the data an off green -_not blue_- that showed no signs of nearby ships of planets. They were floating alone in the emptiness of space, but even still the Commander could not rest easy. Things never just went well with them, and John was terrified that this would be another of those times. So he remained at the console, eyes glued to the screen, body still as a statue, the only movement coming from the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in the recycled air.

That was how his wife found him several arns later. Aeryn Sun, former Peacekeeper Officer, entered the room slowly while being extra careful to make enough noise to catch John's attention. She had learned in the past cycles to never sneak up on him as the consequences were usually disastrous. Sometimes he lashed out and caught her, the bruises on her arm were still tender from the last time she unintentionally startled him. The majority of the time though he either ended up making a fool out of himself or yelling obscenities. The cycles that they spent running for their lives, the time John spent being tortured, had made him jumpy and unpredictable. One could say even paranoid.

"John," Aeryn's voice was soft and patient as if she were talking to a young child. The gentle clicks and sharp consonants absent as she spoke to him in English. He usually responded to that better than Sebacean when he was lost in his own head. "Come back to bed."

Crichton was starting to worry her, worry all of them. John was never a heavy sleeper and often had nightmares. Some nights she would awaken to find him sitting next to her and staring at the wall with an absent minded focus she had not seen since Harvey had been permanently killed. But as the cycles past, it had gotten worse. Now she would awake and he would no longer be there. Just like she had done countless times before, Aeryn left their son with Chiana and went to find her absent husband.

It used to take her arns of searching to find him. Sometimes he would be in the Observatory, sometimes the mess hall, occasionally the kitchen. Usually though, he was somewhere obscure, squirreled away in a duct or vent in one tier or the other. One time she had even found him sleeping under Pilot's Neural Nexus beneath the giant creature. Now though, she knew exactly where to find him: in Command.

Ever since Moya had announced her new pregnancy, John could always be found in Command when he wandered off. He said he was just checking data. Paranoid, Rygel called him. But they were all worried, just like him. Aeryn even gave into the temptation once or twice herself to go over the data on the child and nearby planetary charts, star systems, and controlled quadrants when she herself had sleepless nights. No one wanted to make the same mistakes that had been made with Talyn.

It was a happy day when Pilot and Moya announced her pregnancy to the crew. Finding out by word was certainly better than the Leviathan trying to kill them. There was celebrating all around and Pilot received more than one congratulatory kiss and Rygel and Chiana drank way more then was healthy while John cheered from the sidelines and Aeryn threatened bodily harm if the made a mess inside the Den.

1812 beeped at Crichton from its perch on the War Table, finally snapping the human out of his daze. Blinking slowly, John drew his attention to the tiny drone before waving antennae's had him turning to find Officer Sun standing at the entrance to the room. Her arms were crossed, her hair mussed, and a deep scowl was set into her face, but Crichton smiled at her anyway. Aeryn's displeasure deepened as she crossed further into the room, but Crichton seemed not to notice.

"Yeah, babe?" His throat sounded hoarse, even to himself.

"I awoke, and guess what?" She began, switching to the much more consonant heavy language of her people. It was easier to sound irritated in Sebacean with all the clicking. "You were not there," Aeryn raised her brow as if to say: explain yourself.

John sighed, scrubbing a hand down the back of his neck before he turned back to the console. "I know, I'm sorry…I'll be there in a micron, okay?"

There was a long pause as Aeryn studied his back. His muscles were tense, shoulders bunched up and tight as he leaned upon the metal stand. "Alright," she conceded sadly. They both knew that he would not be returning to their bed that night, just as he had not last night, nor the hundreds before. But she would let him live with this lie, it was a comforting one.

Aeryn could not begrudge him, nor dare she try. They were all worried for Moya and her baby. The War was long over and even though common knowledge dictated that they were no longer being hunted, six cycles of paranoia and fear had been ingrained into their instincts like a sixth sense.

Sighing softly, she turned to leave. Chiana was deep asleep with her son and Aeryn decided that she would join them. It would not be the first time the three of them had shared a room, nor a bed. It was quite common these past few monens and it was just as likely to find Aeryn in her own bed as it was to find her in Chiana's. If Crichton were another man he would almost be jealous, but he understood. There had been nights in the beginning where he just needed to be with somebody, to have someone to hold in the night, to have someone hold him.

When he first came to this side of the universe that person had been Zhaan. There was nothing sexual about their sleeping together, even though the Delvian slept in the nude and on occasion she had convinced him to do the same. It was just a pressing of bodies, skin to skin contact and no more. Several times he had even done the same with Chiana, though definitely not in the nude. And when Aeryn had left on Talyn with Crais and John's twin, Crichton had found himself in D'Argo's room. It was never talked about but was accepted as a mutual act of comfort. There had even been the occasion when one of the crew sought him out.

The former Peacekeeper nearly made it to the door before Moya's whole body convulsed. The floor and walls shook and Aeryn found herself falling heavily onto her knees, hands splayed upon the floor as Crichton gripped the console for balance. They rode out the convulsions, 1812 engaging its stabilizing gravity locking system to stay on the table.

The tremors lasted for several microns, longer than the last by nearly half. It was a common occurrence the closer that it came time for the birthing. This pregnancy was both similar and different then the last one. Just the fact that the crew had been informed and there had been no hostility on Moya's part was a huge step. And though the pregnancy was lasting a lot longer than the previous, it was a lot less stressful then the last.

It was a boy, like Talyn, and like his brother he would be born a half breed, part Leviathan and part Peacekeeper Warship. One major difference though was that he was to be big, bigger than Talyn was at birth, and eventually bigger than Moya. It was common among Leviathans to birth bigger children every time.

Moya would give birth to no more than three children throughout her life. After the next one, her reproductive organs would become obsolete. Once her last child was grown and independent, she would ascend to the title of Matriarch and her hull would dim to a bronze instead of a gold. It was a huge honor among her kind and a day she looked forward to, though it saddened her that not all of her crew would be alive to see it as they did not live as long as she.

When the crew found out about her pregnancy and after the congratulatory party, and the follow-up party to that party, they sat down to talk. Talyn, as the first half breed, had frankly been a disaster. His birthing was stressful and nearly killed Moya. He was exposed to too many people of conflicting opinions, and Craise polluted his mind. Talyn was too powerful and too stubborn and too aggressive. These were things that could not be allowed to happen again.

After much discussion it was brought to light that Moya's pregnancy had been difficult due to the stress she had endured while on the run. To counter this, the crew forbade her from Starburst when they reached roughly the halfway mark in her pregnancy. She had been drifting in space, going nowhere that could cause them any problems. If any of the crew needed supplies, they left in a shuttle with at least a weeken worth of supplies. Chiana and Rygel usually handled the supply runs, always bringing back more resources then they needed or could afford. Crichton pretended not to notice and Aeryn gave up long ago trying to discourage the kleptomania.

"Looks like the baby will be coming any solar day now," John commented as he helped Aeryn up from the floor. His hand was slick with sweat and she grabbed it suddenly as he tried to pull away, confirming that he was also indeed bleeding.

"When did this happen?" She asked softly, wrapping it with a cloth that 1812 presented her.

"Just now," he replied and she gave him a disbelieving look. It was obvious he was lying as the cut had already almost coagulated. But Aeryn chose not to comment. "Look, Aer-" he got no further as the both fell to heap on the floor, the wind getting knocked out of him in a whoosh as his wife landed upon his chest.

Aeryn and John looked at each other for several seconds in stunned silence until the Sebacean woman broke it. "Wake the crew?"

"Yeah," Crichton agreed. "We should probably do that. Pilot!?" He yelled as Aeryn forced herself to her feet, running down the hall as the whole ship trembled.

"Yes Commander?" Pilot's face appeared on the clam shell like screen. He seemed calm, but his voice betrayed him. He knew as well as John did. The baby was coming and it was coming now.

"Is it time?" John asked redundantly.

"Yes." Anxiety, fear, pride, excitement, nervousness. "It is time."

The human took a deep breath, calming himself as he crawled over to the controls and used the console as support to stand. Pressing several buttons, he activated the ship's intercommunications unit. "Good morning Moya and crew. This is your Captain speaking so buckle up and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times. Pilot has just informed me that the baby is coming. This is not a false alarm or a drill. Everybody to their stations immediately."

His voice was steady and calm and his face emotionless. Nobody saw the way his knuckles turned white as he gripped the sides of the console with all of his strength. Moya was going to give birth, and her son would be healthy and happy and safe. Memories of Talyn flooded his mind and he vowed to himself, to Moya and Pilot that it would not happen again.

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Chiana was dreaming, she had to be. It could not be real, no matter how she wished it. But that did not stop her from enjoying it, wishing it real with all her heart. She was with Ka D'Argo and that was how she knew. It could not be real because D'Argo -her D'Argo- the love of her life was dead and had been for some time.

The eyes that she borrowed (stole, procured, took) were gone. The ones she was born with (black) gazed upon the commerce planet with joy as two children ran ahead. They were small for Luxans, barely up to her knees, but their skin was grey. Grey like hers. Chiana knew without knowing that those two, the boy and girl, were her children, hers and D'Argo's. And that was what broke her the most, the dream…the vision of what could have been but now could never be.

She sobbed in her sleep, pale tears running down the top of her nose and out the corner of her eye to be soaked in the pillow beneath her. The bundle in her arms shifted, bringing her back to the waking world. She held the Sebacean-Human child in her arms, cradling him as she gazed upon his calm and peaceful face. It brought a smile to her lips and lifted the pain in her heart for just a moment. He looked so much like his father and yet just like his mom at the same time. More tears escaped her eyes as she remembered the dream and wished with all her heart that it could have been.

Shifting the two-cycle old child into a more comfortable position, the Nebari got up to use the bathroom when she fell off the bed as Moya convulsed. Chiana waited it out and only made it to the threshold of the lavatory before the tremors started back up and Crichton's voice came over the speakers.

She had D'Argo in his crib and was down the hall before the Human had even finished speaking. Sleep was still heavy around her snake like eyes and she had completely forgotten to dress. Clad in only a shirt and underwear, she passed Rygel flying down the hall as she made her way to the birthing chamber. The going was tough as she spent the majority of the trip supporting herself on the wall. It was all she could do to keep her feet on the floor and the rest of her off of it.

She made it to the entrance of the birthing chamber, a grate that sat in the wall, big enough even a Luxan to climb through. Aeryn had beat her there and was already tugging on her EVA suit. Chiana pulled hers on quickly, fingers sliding over the material as Aeryn checked to make sure she was sealed properly. Only once both of them were completely set did they part, Chiana for the grate and Aeryn for the airlock.

They had the hard jobs. Chiana was to keep the baby calm while the Sebacean was to help ease open the birthing case if needed. Rygel was in the Den with Noranti to keep Pilot calm -not that he needed it but it got them out of the way- and John was in Command monitoring the systems.

Pulling herself through the vent, Chiana felt the effects of zero gravity as she entered the chamber. Clambering for a moment, she tied off her connection to an access handle near the grate before she got her first look at the baby. "Oh frell," she whispered quietly, forgetting that all comms were open.

"Repeat Chiana, what did you say?" Crichton's voice rang through the room as she stood in shock.

"Nothing," Chiana replied hastily, releasing from the wall and floating in the room. "I didn't say anything. Did I say something? No, of course I didn't."

"Hey, Pip!" John broke through her ramblings. "Do we have a problem?"

"Well…I would not-well you know," she started, unsure as she eased herself slowly around the baby. There simply was no other way to put it. "Crichton? We have a problem."

"Do you need me down in birthing?" He asked after Chiana failed to continue.

"Y-yeah, tha-that would be good…you need to see this."

It took several microns before Crichton was able to make his way to birthing. He had to wait for Rygel to make his way back up from the Den so he could take over the readings, then he had to jog nearly a half mile and down seven tiers to get there. Three more suits were stationed outside of the birthing chamber with two more by the air lock. There was no need for so many, but Crichton was a firm believer in the 'I'd rather have and not need then need and not have'.

Climbing through the shaft, he tied his line next to Chiana's and caught her arm as she floated back over. It was then that he got his first look. "Oh frell me."

"What in the yotz is going on down there?" Rygel snapped over the speakers just as Aeryn announced that she was in position.

"Uh," Crichton started, unsure of how to continue. "We may or may not have a problem."

"John," Aeryn cut in before Rygel could. "Do we, or do we _not_, have a problem?"

"I say yes," Chiana snapped as Crichton began to do a perimeter around the baby. "Yes, definitely yes."

"No," Crichton replied as he drifted above the baby Leviathan. "This isn't a problem."

"No, Crichton," Chiana cut him off. "This," she gestured to the child. "This right here is a huge problem."

"Alright!" Aeryn barked before they could start bickering. "Just tell me what you see."

"He's big," Crichton replied as he reached the other side.

"Huge," Chiana added.

"Well, bigger than Talyn certainly."

"Nope, still going with huge."

Crichton sighed. "And he's got a few guns."

"You call that a few?"

"Chi-"

"No, that right there is a frelling arsenal."

"Alright, I concede the guns-"

"Hello, can you say plasma cannon?!"

"Okay," Crichton agreed, "kid's got a cannon-"

"Is that a grappling hook?"

"You are so not helping!" John snapped.

"And did I say huge, because he is, and I really do mean this: _huge_!"

"So," Aeryn cut in after a moment of silence and John and Chiana glared at each other. "Problem then?"

"We can deal with this," John emphasized sternly.

"Deal?" Chiana cut in. "How do we even get him out? Can he even fit?"

"We _will_ deal!" He shouted. "Pilot?" John paused long enough to confirm that Pilot was listening. "We'll have to help Moya with the doors, tell her to start opening them. Chiana, go outside and help Aeryn. Rygel, keep an eye on the scanner."

"And what exactly are you going to do?" Chiana questioned tartly.

"_I'm_ going to keep the baby calm and make sure he doesn't try to blow a hole in Moya," John replied just as heated.

"Ha!" Chiana shouted, pointing at him as she unhooked her line and made her way back to the grate. "So you agree with me about the arsenal. Told you!"

"Pip, I swear to god," but she was already gone and Crichton was left alone with the infant. "Well, this is just perfect."

When Pilot had explained to the crew about the inner workings of Leviathan breeding somehow this bit of information did not seem to register with any of them. They logically knew that Moya's second son would be bigger than her first, but they had all seemed to fail to realize what that truly meant. The lighting inside the birthing chamber was minimal and washed out in yellow, but even he could tell that Moya's boy was huge, nearly twice the length Talyn was upon birth.

"Okay, Pilot," John began after a moment as he drifted down until he could lay his hands upon the top of the baby. "Tell Moya to push."

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It took just over seven arns for the baby to be born. After the first arn was passed in silence Pilot informed the crew of the baby's rising stress levels. He shook and trembled within the organic netting that held it in place, the cannon on top twisting this way and that. John pushed off of the wall before he came to a rest against the ramming bone on what Crichton referred to as his face even though Pilot insisted the Leviathan's do not in fact have faces.

He patted the nose awkwardly, hands resting on the not-metal that Leviathan's produce for the hull. It was warm and had a slight hum that vibrated up his arm. Turning, he settled himself upon the nose of the ship, the baby already big enough that he was easily fifty motras long, plenty of enough room for him.

After several long seconds of silence as the baby rocked in the netting, John began to sing softly in order to calm it. With comms on an open frequency everyone could hear him, but no one commented as it seemed to do the trick. It took several heart stopping microns before Pilot confirmed that the baby was relaxing and powering down his guns. Everyone sighed with relief before getting back to work.

Two arns into singing lullabies, John switched to Queen songs and then to Johnny Cash as Aeryn and Chiana worked to get the doors open further. They seemed stuck to the limit, but the gap was still too small for the baby make its way out. And John knew for certain that the baby wanted out. Several times it powered his engines, inching forward in anxiousness, and several times John had to tell him sternly to wait. Only once did he power up his guns but John knew it was out of anxiety and unease, not aggression. It did not take much to calm him back down.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, John got the all clear from Pilot and he pulled himself along his line and out of the way. The baby practically glided out of Moya, his hull scraping in only a few spots but causing no real damage as he flew into space for the first time. That was when everyone got their first real look at him.

Compared to Moya he was small, but according to Pilot, Moya had just given birth to one of the largest male Leviathan ever recorded. Moya was an approximate 1,542 motras long, just under a milon (or mile) with thirty-two accessible tiers. Her second son was 56 motras and three accessible tiers, a fourth was strictly maintenance big enough only for DRD's. But what the crew first noticed was not the size, it was the color.

Moya was a gorgeous deep rusted gold with streaks of darker gold and black outlining her hull. Her first son was blood red with parts of black, the color of war and death. This one was nearly impossible to see. Now that he was outside of Moya, with Crichton and the others back in Command, they could all get a good look at him. He was midnight black with streaks of deep purple crisscrossing in intricate designs down his hull. If one was not looking for him, they would not be able to see the young Leviathan flying loops around his mother.

He blended almost perfectly with the background of space, the only tell he was there was the sudden absence of stars as his body blocked them out. The others did not know if his color was to their advantage or not. While it could work with the narl in his protection, it could also be used as an offensive tool for getting within firing range of another ship unnoticed, that was of course assuming he was able to confuse another ship's radar like Talyn had been able too.

His artillery was also quite impressive. From what Chiana's strange eyes were able to observe, not only did he have the massive canon on top, but also a series of smaller and less powerful but faster guns for more precise shooting equipped to his underside. A large gnarly looking grappling hook was attached near his right side along with what appeared to be a flux net capable of disabling a ship with a massive EMP burst on the other side. A dangerous combination in anyone's hand let alone a child.

"What are we going to do?" Rygel questioned. Though the reaction they had received during the tremendously long birthing showed promise, the crew knew that they could take no chances. The Hynerian hovered next to Noranti at the table in the mess hall as the others took their own places, serving dinner as they discussed the fate of the child flying blissfully among the stars.

"Do we have to _do_ anything?" Noranti questioned as she masticated some sort of protein.

"You weren't here with Moya's first son, so your ignorance on such matters can be excused," Rygel replied diplomatically. Though the words seemed harsh, it was more polite then what the others were expecting him to say.

"Ryge is right," Chiana commented softly, her tone dejected. "Talyn was out of control, and he was powerful. That narl out there has more firepower then Talyn ever did. We can't not do something."

"So, what do you suggest," Aeryn snapped uncomfortably. She had loved Talyn, and though the Leviathan had sacrificed himself for his mother and their crew, he had still done unspeakable things.

"Can't we remove the weapons?" Chiana questioned.

"Not without seriously harming him," Aeryn sighed.

"We could just leave it," Rygel commented in an off-handed tone.

Silence rang around the room and Pilot felt his carapace droop as the crew discussed the fate of Moya's child so casually. It was the Nebari who broke the silence. "You mean abandon it?"

"That is exactly what I am saying," Rygel told her, turning his hover chair to face her fully. "Don't pretend none of you were thinking it."

"We _weren't_," Aeryn bit out.

"I was," Chiana mumbled dejectedly.

"We," Crichton cut in, gesturing to everyone around the table, finger landing on Rygel longer than others. "Are _not_ abandoning Moya's son. We are _not_ killing him. And we are _not_ going to hurt him." His voice was stern, mind made up.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Rygel questioned hotly.

"_We_ are going to ask Moya," he replied, reminding them that this was a living being with a mother. Shame filled Rygel and Chiana as Crichton let them wallow in it. "Pilot, does Moya have any ideas?"

It took a long time for Pilot to reply, and when he did, he sounded disheartened. "Moya and I will accept whatever you all deem necessary, but Moya would me like to convey to you that even though she knows the risks, she wants what is best for her son. Even if that means _removing_ parts of him."

Crichton shook his head, as the others thought upon the option. To _maim_ a narl like that, a child.

_Rock a bye baby, in a tree top. _

_Cutting off your limbs, no crying, please stop._

_I know that it hurts, but we're almost through._

_It's for your own good, you know that, don't you?_

"Stop," his voice was quiet, but grave. Everyone instantly stopped discussing how much clorium they needed for the operation. "We are not going to maim him. With Moya's permission, I'll fly over tomorrow and present to him our choice. We are going to _ask him_ for permission to disable his weaponry. We are not killing him, we are not abandoning him, and we are not going to cut into him. Do I make myself clear?"

The crew dispersed; Rygel to his room, Noranti to the kitchen, Chiana to her room. Aeryn paused at the threshold, undecided to leave or stay. But John remained seated, eyes flickering rapidly, seeing things that she could not. She knew that the Ancient knowledge was returning, but she would not burden him with discussion unless he wanted to talk about it. Aeryn fluttered about between the room and the hall, but John seemed too deep in thought to notice or care.

Mind made up, she turned from him with a grim expression, face pinched as her teeth worried her bottom lip into bleeding. It did not take her long to reach her destination, her determined strides eating away the distance. Pressing her hand into the door, she hesitated once again, hand shifting the hanging curtain aside as her mind danced between the hall and the room.

"Hey," Chiana greeted her softly, as little D nuzzled into her side. "You here to pick him up or…"

Aeryn's eyes darted around as Chiana gestured to the vacant side of the bed. It was a rather large bed, one that D'Argo had bought because the ones on Moya were too small to fit him comfortably. The former Peacekeeper could not understand how Chiana could be content in such a large bed without D'Argo's bulk to fill it. Turning, she glanced down the hall once more before she sighed in defeat. "How about the or?"

Chiana smiled at her softly as Aeryn sat at the edge of the bed and pulled her shoes off. "Aeryn, he'll come around. You'll see."

"I wish I had as much faith as you," she replied softly, pulling her pants off before climbing under the sheets and cuddling close to her son and friend. "Did you not notice?"

Chiana shushed her delicately. "We all know, even Noranti. He sees them again…doesn't he?" Aeryn only nodded her head, burying her face into her son's hair. "He'll be okay, Aeryn. You'll see. He's strong." They drifted to sleep slowly, Chiana wrapping her arms around the Sebacean as D'Argo was pressed between them.

In the mess hall, Crichton traced his finger upon the table in an absent minded way, equations haunting his vision as he tried to yank his sanity back into place. It was difficult since the blue had now claimed occupancy upon his mind. They laid siege to his synapses, and though Crichton buttoned down the hatches and secured the doors, the blue continued to leak in.


	2. Chapter 2

***Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.***

"_Do you know what the rutten chain of command is, it's the chain I go and beat you with until you understand who is in rutten command."_

_-Jayne Cobb_

0~Page_Break~0

**All in All**

**Chapter Summary: **Day negative four - The crew begin to question my sanity. Chiana worries needlessly. Honestly there's nothing wrong with me. Now only if I can get the crew to understand it. 1812 is somehow convinced I'm his dad or something. And according to Pilot, I'm the Chosen One.

0~Page_Break~0

Solar Day -4

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

When John awoke, the blue shattered from his mind like broken glass, gauging deep scars of remembrance in his synapses. The pain was present, but he could no longer _see_ the blue. He felt that today would be a good day. With the imbedded knowledge out of sight, he felt he could function properly for the first time in weekens. The bed was empty beside him and D'Argo's crib was vacant; even though he felt more alone then he had in a very long time, he also felt a little free. Without the knowledge of the Ancients weighing down his thoughts he found himself with a sense of lightness.

The soft sheets pooled around his bare waist as he sat alone in the bed, the other side untouched and still made. Aeryn had not returned to their room last night, but if Crichton was being honest with himself he had already known she was not going to. The past few monens found her and little D in Chiana's bed more than their own and he understood, he truly did. But that did not stop the aching in his heart as he pulled himself from the room and made his way down to the communal showers.

1812 beeped at him questioningly as John set his clothing aside and pulled himself into a stall. The cleaning mist that came out was marvelously hot and Crichton found his muscles relaxing as the heat sunk into his skin. He missed honest to god showers (and bathtubs) but John quietly admitted that Moya's sauna like bathing stalls had to be the next best thing.

Scrubbing his body with a cleaning agent he heard his little DRD whirl and beep in greeting as the stall next to his turned on. If John did not have plans to implement he knew he would luxuriate at least another few microns in the mist, but he knew that he had no such time for it. Forlornly, he reached over and turned the mist off and the sonic pressure on. The moisture was expelled from his skin by the vibrating force and John left the cubicle mostly dry but for his hair that he immediately started to scrub with worn towel.

1812 beeped and twittered as it dragged over John's pants, the moisture on the floor sticking to the leather. Thankfully they were water proof so John decided not to make a fuss. Grabbing the clothing, he pulled them on quickly as the little drone darted back for his shirt. Huffing in amusement John sat at one of the benches lining the wall and pulled on his boots as 1812 presented him with the damp top. The little drone twirled happily as Crichton finished dressing and he got the impression that if it had been a dog its tail would have been wagging.

"Seriously, Crichton," Chiana's voice was ruff with sleep as she wandered out of her own cubicle naked. He turned to her but tactfully kept his eyes above her chin. It was hardly the first time he had seen her naked. Living in close quarters soon got rid of any of his bashfulness about nudity. But like Zhaan, Chiana seemed to hold no concept of modesty. It was something he had gotten used to.

"What, Pip?"

"Your _pet_," she spit the word as if it was something distasteful before she grabbed his towel that he was still using and vigorously scrubbed it through her hair. Tossing it back to him, she continued, "that kind of behavior isn't normal for drones. Did you reprogram it or something?"

John shifted, turning his gaze down to the painted DRD who blinked its antennae up at him. "No, he's always been this way."

"Sure it has," she snorted in amusement as she pulled her own clothes on. "Leave it to you to find the one fahrbot DRD out there."

"He isn't fahrbot," Crichton argued as he made his way over to the sink and grabbed the cream, lathering onto his face. "He's just…"

"Mega fahrbot," Chiana interjected when Crichton failed to finish. "Everyone agrees, even Pilot. I mean, who's ever heard of a DRD within a Leviathan that functioned separately from it. You know that it refuses to take on the commands assigned to it by either Pilot or Moya? It ain't normal." She refused to refer to it as anything other than an object, unlike Crichton who insisted that it was male. DRD's did not have genders, but the human declined to acknowledge that fact.

Crichton pulled the razor away to look at her. "1812 isn't crazy, Pip."

Her reflection grinned at him when he turned back to the mirror and continued to shave. "You only say that because you're more fahrbot then it is." Crichton made a huffing noise in amusement, but he did not bother with a response. "You goin' over to the narl in a bit, yeah?"

Drawing the razor down slowly, he caught her eyes in the reflection. "Yeah," when she only shifted uncertainly, Crichton put the razor down and turned to her fully. "Something the matter."

She twitched, her fingers coming up and playing with the end of her sleeve. "Pilot says his weaponry is active, even his internal protection."

Crichton sighed softly before he reached out and stilled her fingers. Her snake like pupils flicked up from the floor and locked onto his eyes. "We already knew that, Pip. But someone has to go over there and both Pilot and Moya think it should be me. What's really eating at you?"

Her gaze darted around rapidly before she finally stilled. Turning her hand around, she gripped the human's fingers between hers and stepped closer. "Aeryn said, well…we noticed-the crew I mean. Everyone's…"

"Deep breaths, Chi," Crichton interrupted as the Nebari stumbled through her words. "Just say it."

She did as he told and took a deep breath, her chest expanding and shoulders slumping after she let it out. "You're seeing them again, right? I mean…the things those Ancient fekkiks put in your head?"

Crichton released the breath he had not realized he had been holding. It whistled past his teeth as he groaned in frustration and dropped his gaze to the floor. "You mean everyone knows?" When Chiana only nodded her head he sighed louder.

"Don't worry, Crichton," Chiana reassured softly, patting his shoulder awkwardly as he just stood there. "We'll figure this out. You'll take care of Moya's narl and then we'll figure it out. You'll be okay, 'cause your always okay…right?"

"Yeah," John huffed softly as he turned back to the mirror and picked the razor up again. Blue eyes in the mirror, and _blue_ on it. "I'm always okay."

0~Page_Break~0

Breakfast was an awkward affair. They sat around the table discussing tentative back up plans incase disabling the baby Leviathan's weaponry did not work. And even though he participated the bare minimum, John began to notice the looks that everyone had been giving him. The looks that he had been receiving for the past few monens when he thought about it. They gazed at him with worry and pity. He was unsure which one was worse.

John could not understand how he had not noticed that everyone had been giving him _those_ looks, but even now he could feel the blue creeping up on him. It started as it usually did, just out of his peripheral, teasing little bright blue streaks dancing in the air. John learned to ignore it -he had to pretend not to see- because he knew the second he acknowledged the existence it, it would flood his vision and then it was _all_ he could see.

_Don't look. If you don't look it's not there._

"John?" Aeryn's stilted accent cut into his attention and he turned from the alluring blue that was taunting him. He hummed a questioning tune as he saw all eyes on him. "John, are you alright?"

"Yeah," he replied slowly as he picked up his utensil and resumed eating. The food was cold and the others plates were all bare. How long had he been distracted?

_Further down the rabbit hole, Alice._

Aeryn shifted uncomfortably next to him, tucking a stray hair back behind her ear. Across the table Chiana was bouncing D'Argo as she diverted his attention, but even so he could tell her focus was mostly on him. It was Noranti who finally broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the group. "Perhaps Aeryn should tend to Moya's child instead."

"No," John replied immediately.

"John-"

"I said no, Aeryn," he cut her off and she flinched back as he dropped his utensil in annoyance. It clattered loudly off the metal tray and a deafening silence fell over them. "I'm fine, I am going to be fine."

His eyes caught hers and Aeryn spent several microts staring at him, her gaze drifting about his face as if searching for something. Eventually she sighed in defeat and turned away from him. "Very well then," her gaze remained fixed upon the table even as he stood to leave.

He pressed his palm onto her bare shoulder, sweeping her hair aside as his fingers brushed her neck. "I'm fine, Aeryn…really."

The sound of his boots against metal proceeded him as he left the mess and made his way to the treblin side hanger. "No," Aeryn replied softly as he crossed the threshold into the hall. "You're not."

0~Page_Break~0

"Crichton!" Chiana called loudly, jogging into the hanger and running into the work bench in front of the Prowler.

John turned to her, one hand in the fighter's cockpit as he secured 1812. "Hey, Pip. Can you hand me that flashlight?"

The Nebari turned, tripping over an open toolbox with its contents scattered across the floor. Between Crichton's tinkering with the pods and Aeryn's constant tune-ups on the Prowler, it was nearly impossible to keep the hanger organized. "You know, you should let Aeryn go with you," she commented as she ruffled through a box.

"She never asked," Crichton replied distractedly as he climbed into the Prowler.

"Yeah, well," Chiana added as she finally located the flashlight. It was hiding beneath a rag next to the work bench. "She's done this kinda thing before, ya know?"

"No can do, Pip," John began the power up sequence as Chiana jogged up the rolling stairs secured to the side of the ship. "Believe it or not, I already asked Pilot."

"And?" She prompted as she leaned onto the side of the cockpit, handing him the torch as the engines began to rumble.

"Moya says no. Apparently she's uncomfortable with more than one of us being over there at a time. Pilot didn't go into it, but I understand."

"Yeah," Chiana sighed softly. She understood it as well. Maybe things could have been different with Talyn if Crais had not gotten a hold of him. Narl's are too easily impressionable and do not understand the concept of deception or lying. She had been that way once, when she was younger. Chiana had taken nearly everything at face value, and the first time she had been manipulated and deceived it took her cycles to understand _why_. "You gotta be careful, yeah?"

"Course, Pip," he replied gently, securing the flight headset on his head before he reached over and grabbed one of her hands. "I'm always careful, you know that."

"No you're not," she replied, smiling cheekily.

"Hey," he barked, looking offended. "Like 80% of the time it's _not_ my fault. Dren just happens."

"Yeah, and 80% of the time, it happens to you," she laughed, jumping from the stairs before he could swat at her.

"That ungrateful little-"

"Commander," Pilot interrupted as the cockpit canopy secured. "Moya wishes to know if you are ready. She is quite anxious. She would also like to thank you again for agreeing to this, and to remind you once more that most of his systems are functioning and active, including his interior defense."

_Oh this is going to go swimmingly._

"Open the hanger doors, Pilot."

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John steered the Prowler around the baby Leviathan as he waited for permission to dock. The narl was twisting this way and that, forcing John to widen his perimeter more than once to avoid a collision. The little ship was extremely curious, trying to follow Crichton's Prowler around even as the human was trying to board.

"He truly is beautiful, Moya," John commented softly into the flight headset as the narl spun around the Prowler as if they were dancing. The kid was tiny next to his mother, probably the length of twenty to twenty-five Prowlers if they lined up nose to engine.

The overall shape of the narl was very similar to Talyn's. His two side arms came forward, unlike Moya's where they hugged the hull until they reached the tail. Talyn's tail had been bulky, flaring out at the end in a solid pyramid. The narl's tail was more elegant, sleek lines that flowed into a curving flare, the tips tapering downwards into a half crescent.

In Starburst, the two arms would pull close and the ends would tuck underneath the tail fin, streamlining his whole body and initiating the Starburst drive by the energy created as the ends of the arms pulled away from the tail, but keeping the front tucked in safely to the main body. It was an ingenious design, both stunning to watch and completely functional. Aside from the arms and weapons, the rest of his shape was all Moya. Talyn had been more elongated, more circular like a rounded trapezoid, but the narl had Moya's sideways oval shape.

A series of ridges cascaded down the spine column of his back, small at the front and end as they gained size towards the middle. There was a gap between the two largest where John knew the sonic ascendancy cannon lay hidden. The flux net and grappling hook where pulled into the bottom of the arms as well as the two rail guns, capable of firing up to 500 rounds of heated plasma a micron tucked into the sides.

After much conciliation, John got permission to dock as Moya finally had convinced her son to hold still long enough. The hamman side hanger door opened and John swooped the fighter craft in before the narl became impatient and stated to twirl about again. Once he was in the hanger, maneuvering took all of his attention and his skill. Unlike Moya, the baby's hanger was much smaller, and even though he was flying the Prowler and not the larger transport pod, it was still a very tight fit. He would have to back the craft out when he left as there simply was not enough room to turn it around while still inside.

Landing gently, John powered down the fighter and lifted 1812 out as he jumped from the ship. Well he tried to jump at least but he did not land as the narl had forgotten to turn on the gravity inside the hanger after he pressurized it. 1812 seemed to have no problem as he immediately attached himself to the first surface he bumped into.

"Pilot?" Crichton called into his comm as he floated into a wall and bounced off of it before he could grab hold of a handle or beam.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Could you have Moya inform her son," he grunted as his back slammed into a rut. "That after the hanger is pressurized he needs to reengage the gravity."

"Has his gravity not initiated?" Pilot asked him calmly as Crichton drifted above what looked like the beginnings of individual docking bays. At the moment they appeared to be tiny platforms growing out of the walls.

"Pilot, now please!" He did not quite snap.

"Very well, Commander," Pilot replied. "I'll inform Moya at once."

Crichton heard what sounded like a car turning over and a fan coming on before he felt himself become heavy. He only had enough time to mumble a quiet, "Oh frell," before he plummeted two motras and landed harshly on the metal ground, clipping his thigh on the Prowler's wing and winding himself quite thoroughly.

"You may want to hold onto something," Pilot informed him and if Crichton had any air in his lungs he would have replied with either an insult or sarcasm. But he could not breathe as it was so John chose to just lay there and wallow instead…or at least until he got his lungs to function again.

Rolling onto his front, Crichton slowly shifted until he was on all fours and pulled himself underneath the Prowler and to the hanger entrance. Only once he was nearly upon the panel was he able to stand, the nose of the fighter just inches from touching the royal purple door. Golden lines bisected the purple in a similar pattern to Moya's doors and Crichton took a moment to admire it before he pressed the green lit panel on the side. Unlike Moya, the door did not rotate on the vertical axis, but slid into the wall like Talyn's had.

Grunting curiously, Crichton made his way into the hall, 1812 rolling behind him. As the narl was still so young, a lot of the hallways were incomplete, branching off and ending suddenly. Many panels were missing, exposing wires and the organic mesh that held them in place. Very few of the lights were active and those that were blinked sporadically, like a bulb that was not fully installed. Luckily he remembered to bring a torch with him and he used it to make his way to the Command.

The hallway reminded him of another Leviathan, Rovhu: the prison transport. He had looked similar to this when he died, all of him exposed and scattered, panels missing, the ceiling uncovered. There had been chaos and destruction around every corner, but the one huge difference aside from the older one being infected and diseased was that the narl was not shrouded in death but in hope.

1812 beeped at John and wagged its antennae like eyes to gain his attention. The human had stopped near the Command door, hand stroking down a layered royal purple rib, the same bright gold designs twisting in the organic metal. It was warm to the touch, and Crichton could feel a steady pulsing vibration beneath his fingertips. It felt almost like a heartbeat.

Smiling gently, he finally turned back to the DRD. 1812 flashed his eye lights in what Crichton took to be exasperation and scuttled the last few feet to the door. Amused, he followed; pressing his hand to the door control and entering the Command.

The room was poorly lit just like the rest of the ship. A few lights were blinking from consoles and the ceiling but most of the room was illuminated by the nearby sun, casting everything in a blue glow. Sweeping his torch from one end to the other, he noted that the Command was not terribly different from Talyn's. His main control system was directly in the front, although more centered towards the middle of the room, leaving a large open space between the consoles and the main viewing window.

Underneath the window lay a padded bench that curved with the natural bend of the narl's overall shape. It was a part of the wall, the metal flowing into a comfortable seating area. The consoles along the sides were attached to nothing but the floor so when the Leviathan grew, the wall would pull further away from them. Whether it was to make room for more consoles or perhaps to be just a more open space like Moya, John could not tell. Each side had three stools that grew out of the floor, spaced far enough apart that two people could easily stand between them.

The center console was sectioned off not much unlike a Peacekeeper Command Carrier, multiple panels of light shaped in complex patterns two inches beneath the segmented frame more common to Leviathans. The combination was more comforting then John was willing to admit, the panels a mixture of gold and purple instead of Peacekeeper red and white like Talyn's had been.

As he stood there, a light above him flickered unsteadily before finally holding; a large circular panel at least five feet across protruded down from the ceiling like an angled donut. The glow was bright, illuminating the whole room as it was the main source of light. It was low enough that he could reach up and touch it, but John knew that the way Leviathans grew that it would not be so for long. Six purple ribs connecting into its sides before flowing down the walls and into the floor. The larger outer ring illuminated a gentle gold interlaced with thin strings of purple that shifted as if in water. The two foot center piece was still dark.

A series of lights began to flicker to life along the floor, purple circles of luminosity lining the side consoles in straight rows. Another set lined the front window while patterns of lights danced along the sides of the consoles in intricate shapes of gold. Between the gold and purple, the room was cast in warm and comforting colors and John felt himself relaxing, even as the several interior guns he could now see tracked his movements.

The weapons console was split into two different areas. It appeared as if the center console was designed to control all of the ships functions including artillery. A smaller pillar just to the left protruded from the floor accessed the short and long distance sensors and another identical pillar to the right for the communications array. If John stepped forward, he would be able to access and control the main console, communications and the sensors without moving. It was a convenient design.

The sonic ascendancy cannon could also be accessed with the smaller console along the left side of the room that also controlled the rail guns. The flux net and grappling hook's secondary access point were located on the console lining the other side along with the short and long distance sensors. The command was designed to be comfortably controlled by either one person or an entire crew.

Several feet in front of the main console was a circular line of gold about a foot across embedded into the black floor where Pilot had told him the manual flight control was located to fly the ship. John blinked curiously at its absence but then assumed that it perhaps retracted like the doors, only coming out when it was needed. Moya's manual flight control was within a side upright standing console that was used as a table otherwise. When accessed, the flat surface rotated 90 degrees to activate the manual controls.

As John stepped closer the interior guns tracked his movements. Painted black like the hull, they blended well with the black walls but contrasted with the royal purple ribs. When they were not moving, John hardly noticed that they were there.

_Be vewy, vewy quiet. We're huntin' for wabbits._

1812 beeped at John, the noise sounding like insects scuttling as it gathered the human's wandering attention. John quirked an eyebrow at the drone but stepped forward completely until he was standing directly beneath the ceiling light, still not in reach of any of the consoles. The center circle within the gold ring flashed purple as the Leviathan trilled at him. John could not be sure but he thought that it held a curious note to it.

"Hey there," Crichton started, shuffling awkwardly as he tucked his hands behind his back to stave off the temptation of touching anything. It felt like a loose military position, but John decided that it was safer coming off as more strict then it was to give into his childish urges and started pressing random buttons just to see what they would do. "My name's Commander John Crichton. This is 1812. We live on your mom, Moya."

The center light pulsed as the narl trilled and tweeted. It was another glaring difference from his older brother, one that John found he really liked. While Talyn had beeped in deep bass like tones, this one seemed to chirp. It reminded John of the birds back on Earth that sang during the mating season. The sound was actually quite beautiful and pleasant to listen to.

"You can understand me, right? Pilot, can he understand me?"

"Of course Commander," Pilot's voice broke over the comm. "Leviathans are born with complete banks of data including science, math, ancestral history, and language. Both Moya and her baby start off knowing more languages when they are only a solar day old than most species learn throughout their entire life cycle…" There was a long pause as Pilot took the moment to translate the nonsensical chirrups. "The baby would like to know what you mean by name."

"Name, well that's…uh," how did one define a name. "It's like a designation. Your species is a Leviathan, your mom is a Leviathan, but you are both separate entities. So your mom is Moya, that's her name, so even if I am talking to a Leviathan, by calling Moya by name I have designated that I am speaking to or about her. Does that make sense?"

There was a series of chirps and trills as the purple light above him seemed to pulse with the syllables of each sound. After a moment, Pilot's voice translated through the comm. "Moya and I have corrected any of the confusion behind your explanation."

"Gee, thanks Pilot." John snorted sarcastically. He thought his definition was superb. Apparently others did not.

"He is also asking what his designation is."

"Uh," John shifted from foot to foot. "What did you and Moya name him?"

"We did not," Pilot replied shortly. "We were hoping that _you_ would name him, Commander."

Crichton stood there in a stunned silence for several microts before he flushed a deep red in embarrassment. "Can I ask why you want _me_ to name him?"

"Of course," Pilot replied in his usual tone of indifference. "It is for the very same reason that we chose you to be the first introduced to Moya's baby."

Shifting about awkwardly, John brought one of his hands up to run it through his short hair. "And why is that exactly? You never explained."

"Because Commander, we trust you," he answered simply. Pilot remembered in the beginning where the crew had the chance to go home and how they had taken the payment from him, cutting his arm off. He remembered how furious Crichton had gotten. Pilot had never before had someone mad _for_ him.

Moya remembered how after she had gotten stuck into separate realities and put back together, Crichton had spent the entire solar day with Pilot to make sure that they were both recovering. And she remember how hard he tried to keep Talyn safe, what he had sacrificed to keep everyone safe. The human had done much for them, and they remembered. They trusted him.

Flushing in embarrassment, John stuttered for a moment before he regained control of his mind and mouth. "You want me to name him? Well…okay then. I'll have to think about it. It's gotta be a good name, the best. So uh, right…" Crichton cleared his throat. "Back to the matter at hand. So…" and this was the hard part. John had to figure out a way to get permission from the narl to override his weaponry, and he had to do it in a way that the child would not be in any pain and fully understood and accepted why and how. And he had to do it without getting shot or killed.

_I am so frelled_.

"I have a son, a narl like you. His name is D'Argo," John started cautiously as the Leviathan trilled at him curiously. Crichton was proud to be able to catch the questioning tone all on his own without Pilot's translation. "I'm Human and his mom is Sebacean, so D'Argo's a half breed, like you. You're half Leviathan like Moya, and half Peacekeeper." He decided to go with the more neutral word of Peacekeeper then Warship as Talyn had been called. "That's why you and Moya look different."

A series of trills and warbles accompanied the pulsing light and John could almost feel the translator microbes trying to interpret them. He could hear the questioning tone, just not the question itself. Smiling softly, John took comfort that he was getting better at understanding the narl.

"The baby asks for you to define what you mean by different. He knows he is not the same as Moya and it is starting to cause tension between them. Moya is scared that he will react like Talyn."

John knew from what Pilot had told him that Leviathan's were born with their own species history, so the baby should already know about Talyn. After a moment of thought, John decided that it would be best to explain it all anyways. Just because the narl had access to the information did not mean he understood it.

"Leviathans are a peaceful race," he started slowly, sighing as he made his way past the center console and seating himself on the padded bench beneath the window. It was long, spanning the whole length of the window and deep enough that he could lay back on his elbows without touching the glass. "They are born without weapons and their only defensive capabilities are there natural shielding, thick hulls, and Starburst. The bone on the front can be used to ram, but I've only ever seen that done twice.

"When your mom was under Peacekeeper control, they placed a device inside Moya that integrated Leviathan DNA and the organic mapping of a Peacekeeper Warship. That's why you and Talyn were both born with weapons and Moya was not."

There was a long silence as the baby took in the information. After a while there was another questioning chirrup and John could have sworn that his microbes translated the word Talyn. Before he could think more on it, Pilot's voice broke his train of thought. "The baby is asking about Talyn."

"What does he want to know?" Crichton questioned, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip.

"Everything," Pilot replied after a short pause. "Moya is sending him information, but the baby would like to hear it from you." The way it was said made John frown. Pilot spoke in a tone that was bordering on frustration.

"Is everything okay, Pilot?" John asked carefully.

Pilot grunted before sighing loud enough to be heard over the comms. "The baby is still receiving transmission from Moya, but he is refusing to respond to her quarries."

Crichton could hear the worry in his voice, the fear. Talyn did something similar right before he shot at Moya and fled with Crais. "Pilot, tell Moya not to worry. I'll fix this, he's just scared. Just…just let me talk to him."

Turning his attention back to the narl, the Commander pressed two fingers into the pressure point in his eye socket above his eye. He could feel a headache coming on. "Look, I'll tell you whatever you want to know, and I'll tell you all of it. I will never lie to you, alright? I need you to trust me when I tell you that. But what you're doing is scaring your mom, okay? You can't cut her out like that, she worries for you. I know you're scared, you have data banks full of information that doesn't make sense and you're frightened. So if you want to know about Talyn, I'll tell you about him…okay?"

Silence filled the room, the blue sun shining through the window before the baby banked and Moya filled the view. After a long while of just gazing out into space, Crichton heard the quiet sound of whirring as the interior guns lifted back into the ceiling. Breathing a sigh of relief, Crichton propped one leg up on the bench as he turned to sit sideways, leaning against the window as he kept his eyes on the view.

"So…Talyn. I guess I'll start at the beginning. He was not unlike you, a little smaller sure…his hull was red with black. I much prefer your color, it's more peaceful," John commented softly and the ship chirped at him. John was able to pick up a hint of smugness but no actual words. A smile pulled at his lips, the kid obviously preening under the compliment. "I lived on him for a time…well, the other me. At one point there was two me's, I mean literally two of me…never mind, long story. I'll tell you all about it later. Anyhow, he was stubborn and full of pride and promise. Talyn loved his mother, I know he did…and Moya," he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he tapped his finger to the glass in a rhythm. "Moya loved him so much…"

The purple light pulsed as a series of chirps and tweets filled the room. Once again John _heard_ the word Talyn, but it was lost in the trilling as the baby questioned. He sat there for a moment, microbes and the power of his mind trying to translate as Pilot seemed to be giving them there space. When he tapped his comm there was no reply, meaning that it had been turned off as John attempted to help Moya's son through his distress.

After a while, his mind seemed to wrap around the nonsensical notes and place them somewhat into an understanding. "Are you asking what happened to him?" John asked carefully. In reply he received what could only be interpreted as a series of excited tweets that let him know he was on the right track.

"He died, little one," he replied softly, genuine sorrow filling him. "He died saving the lives of his mother and everyone aboard her. He was a handful and he was dangerous…but he was extremely brave. Talyn was still a baby, only a cycle old…and Moya still misses him…we all still miss him…

"When he was born, Moya and the people on her were being hunted, pursued. She went into labor and gave birth to him near an enemy base and your mom knew that if the Peacekeepers found them, they would kill her baby or enslave him. So they hid. There was a man, a Sebacean named Crais…an ex-Peacekeeper, he wasn't a good man, but he wasn't exactly bad either. He got on board Talyn and convinced him to leave his mother…Crais became his Captain. He was born into a time of violence and bonded to a Captain that would see him used for a _weapon_," John spat the word as if he could rid himself of it. Fingers drawing random patterns on the glass.

He let the silence continue before 1812 nudged his foot, antennae blinking. Crichton tapped the little drone with the tip of his boot in retaliation. "Talyn's peaceful nature that naturally comes from all Leviathans battled with his fierce instincts of protection and his volatile weapons capabilities. He spent the majority of his life in conflict with himself and he was confused and scared. Talyn should have had a Captain that protected him, guided him, sought not to use him…but he wasn't as lucky."

_Not as lucky as you…I won't let you down the same path. Even if it kills me._

"Moya's scared," he continued after another prompted nudge from the DRD. As he spoke he began to gain an understanding of the little Leviathan. "She worries that you'll leave her. Moya feels worried _for_ you, not because you're different, not because of your weapons…there's nothing _wrong_ with you," he hissed the word like it was something vile. Talyn had been convinced there was something wrong with him too.

"She's just scared that others will want to use you. But I-we won't let that happen." John vowed fiercely. Moya's son would grow up safe in a time of peace. He will not know war or fear. He will not be hunted or enslaved. John refused to let that transpire.

"She just wants you safe little one, please don't punish her for that," he begged softly, turning back to the room as the silence dragged on.

The lights on the console pulsed steadily as the narl flew around his mother. It was not often that he got to view Moya from space so he took the time to enjoy it. She truly was an impressive sight, and utterly massive. John placed his hand on the glass, pressing it in to feel the cold. There was a slight chill to it, but the glass still felt warmer than it should have on any other ship. Leviathans had self-regulating environments including temperature. The glass was warm because the baby was alive. The thought made him smile fully, lips pulled over teeth and wrinkles around the corner of his eyes.

Pilot's voice over the intercom drew his attention. "Commander," his voice was loud in the quiet of the ship, echoing over the steady thrum that all Leviathans seemed to have. "You did it, the baby has reestablished communications. Moya and I are grateful."

"Don't mention it, Pilot," John replied softly, pulling his hand from the glass and running his thumb over his fingertips. "Hey Pilot? Can you and Moya give us a moment? I have something I need to ask the kid and I would prefer it if we didn't have an audience."

"Of course, Commander," Pilot replied after a moment of hesitation. "Moya and I will cut communications for a quarter arn. Is that a sufficient length of time?"

"That's perfect…and Pilot? Tell Moya…tell her I said thank you. It means a lot that you both trusted me enough to do this."

"Think nothing of it," Pilot responded gently. "Terminating communications…now."

"I need you to pay careful attention," John started after the baby trilled at him in confusion. He stood slowly, making his way back to the center of the room. This felt like a conversation that needed to be held standing. "I'm going to ask you to do something for me, then tomorrow I'm going to ask you a question."

John waited until he got a confirmation chirp before he continued. "I want you to talk to your mom and Pilot later tonight. Just talk, that's all. And when you do I want you to ask about Talyn. I want you to think about the decisions he made, the actions he took, the people…the innocent people he killed. Then I want you to think about what you would have done differently, I want you to ask Moya what she would have done differently."

He trailed a hand along the center console, fingers dipping into the patterned holes but not far enough to touch the buttons below. "Talyn was scared and he had access to powerful weapons that made him no longer afraid. So he used them…he used them without the knowledge and forethought of someone wiser than himself. He used them without mercy and without compassion. He used them because they made him less scared. And in doing so he hurt a lot of people, your mother and his own Captain included."

Turning, he strode to the center of the Command area, equal distance to all consoles and directly beneath the pulsing light of purple that lit up every time the baby spoke. "And then tomorrow I'm going to ask you yes or no. Tomorrow I will request your permission to place an override on your weapons, accessible only to a person of _your_ choosing. This will allow you to grow and learn peacefully while someone who is knowledgeable and not afraid to make rational decisions on when it is and is not appropriate to activate your weaponry. If you say yes I need you to choose someone who will guide you, teach you, who will protect you.

"I need you to understand that the decision is entirely yours to make. You can say no if you want. And I need you to trust me when I say that no matter what, no matter the answer you give or the reaction you have nothing will ever happen to you. We will not abandon you, we will never do anything without your permission, and we will _never_ harm you. You understand?"

Several long microts passed before the baby trilled in acknowledgement. John reached up, stroking his fingers across the slick glass containing the light. It pulsed purple beneath his fingertips and the ship rumbled in what Crichton was able to translate as contentment. Almost like a cat purring. He could feel the vibrations traveling through his arm into his chest.

"Okay…" John sighed the word, fingers still stoking along the light and the deep gold metal that separated the center from the outer ring. "I'll be back tomorrow, alright? And if you say no, then we will figure something else out…together."

John gave the light one more affectionate pat before he made his way back to the entry doors. 1812 beeped and chittered at him forlornly and Crichton slowed to a halt before he rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned his attention to the DRD. The drone was still by the center console, refusing to move as his antennae drooped pitifully.

"What? Seriously?" John questioned, his whole manner frustrated. "You want to stay?"

1812 wagged his antennae and blinked his eye lights. "Dear God, what has my life turned into…I'm not your dad, 1812. You can stay if the baby says it's okay."

The narl's light flashed as it twittered eagerly. "Well there you go," John replied in fond annoyance as he seemed to roll his head with his eyes and turned back to the door. He waved a hand over his shoulder as he passed the threshold. "You two don't stay up too late," John turned down the hall, reeling backwards and tilting his head back through the door. "And you," he pointed to the drone. "Yes, you. You stay out of his systems. You hear me? I mean it."

His only reply was the random chittering squeaks from the DRD and the narl's soft trills as he made his way back to the Prowler. All in all that could have gone much worse. Today was a good day.


End file.
